


Common Scents

by JinxedAmbitions



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bathing/Washing, Friends to Lovers, Geralt Is In Denial, M/M, Roach is So Done (The Witcher), Scent Kink, Scents & Smells, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:20:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25638682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JinxedAmbitions/pseuds/JinxedAmbitions
Summary: Jaskier’s natural scent is constantly buried under the oils and perfumes he practically bathes himself in.  When Jaskier misplaces his collection of soaps and perfumes while on the Path, Geralt finds it amusing at first.  However, he is not prepared for Jaskier’s natural scent or what it does to him.  Geralt never really gave much thought to Jaskier’s smell, but when it is no longer muddled or masked he can focus on little else.As each day passes, Geralt finds it harder and harder to ignore his growing interest in his companion.  Jaskier unknowingly chips away at Geralt’s resolve with the familiarity they’ve developed over time: asking for help bathing because of sore muscles, sleeping a hair too close, relieving some tension while Geralt’s hunting for dinner.  Things that Geralt never thought twice about until now.Geralt is forced to come to terms with his own feelings as they march on, and days of sweat and budding desire begin to layer.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 47
Kudos: 458





	1. Chapter 1

“Geralt?” Jaskier was across their meager camp, rifling through Geralt’s belongings like they were his own. It wasn’t entirely unheard of but uncommon nonetheless. Usually, he left Geralt’s satchel of potions and ingredients alone, especially after Geralt told him some of them would eat right through his fancy doublets if he accidentally spilled them. It was a much more effective deterrent than saying they’d burn or hurt Jaskier himself.

“Mm?” Geralt had been doing a good job of ignoring Jaskier’s rummaging until that point, but it was better not to ignore a direct question. There was no point in outraging that man when he’d been well behaved for three whole days in a row. He hadn’t even complained of sore feet, and when Geralt had mentioned a small stream nearby, Jaskier had positively glowed and boasted to Roach about what a wonderful travel companion they both had.

“Geralt, have you seen my soap?” Jaskier asked, completely used to Geralt’s conversational hums and grunts.

Looking up from where he was skinning their dinner for the evening, Geralt frowned. “Why would you be looking for  _ your  _ soap in  _ my  _ belongings?” It seemed like a reasonable question, but Jaskier puffed up like an offended sparrow.

“Clearly because it is not nestled safely in my own satchel where it belongs,” Jaskier retorted. He placed his hands on his hips and glared around their camp like the soap could be shamed into revealing itself. It couldn’t. If Geralt’s nose was correct, the flowery soap wasn’t with them at all.

Jaskier was very protective of his soaps and perfumes, and he never went anywhere without them. It had taken months before Geralt had actually gotten a whiff of Jaskier’s natural scent which hid beneath layers of scents strong enough to singe the nose hairs off a striga. The perfumes weren’t terrible. Despite how he practically bathed in them, they weren’t offensive, just  _ strong _ , which was understandable when one made a living traveling for lengths of time without access to proper bathing.

It was just that Jaskier had a very nice scent hidden beneath all of that. When Geralt had finally smelled him after getting stuck in a particularly violent rain storm, months into their travels, he’d been taken aback. Jaskier smelled rich and musky compared to the light floral scents he preferred. It reminded Geralt of heavy spring rains in the forest after long winters. There was life in it. 

Not only was there life in it but a wealth of emotion as well. Geralt hadn’t realized how much he just read from Jaskier’s dramatic declarations of his emotions. However, as they’d sat at the mouth of a cave, trying their best to avoid the deluge, he could pick up on all of the subtler emotions Jaskier didn’t simply project for all the world to see. He could smell a hint of despair at the destruction of one of his most ornate doublets, or maybe it was despair of his sodden boots or drenched hair. Then there was the subtle scent of contentment as Geralt used Igni to light them a fire by which to warm themselves and dry their clothing. Jaskier’s emotions were as complex as the doublets he favored.

“Did you finish it?” Geralt asked, not having any sort of satisfactory answer for Jaskier’s current plight.

“Geralt, I think I would remember finishing my soap. Did you use it and finish it?” It was quite clear he was trying to keep the accusation out of his tone, but he was failing at that terribly. Geralt let it slide.

“I’d go without soap before using yours.” Geralt finished with the rabbit then skewered the unlucky creature for their dinner.

“I’ll have you know that that soap is some of the finest available from only the most skilled artisans and herbalists. Unlike  _ your  _ soap which leaves you smelling like you bathed in onion soup.” So much for keeping the accusations to a minimum.

“Mmm. There is probably a suitably clean and fragrant puddle somewhere because your soap doesn’t seem to be here,” Geralt said, wiping his hands on his thighs and walking over to his packs and carefully putting them back to rights.

Jaskier’s mouth dropped open, and he made a series of offended faces as though Geralt had actually taken the soap and tossed it into the woods when he wasn’t looking. Whether or not Geralt liked the smell of Jaskier’s soaps, they were not worth the absolute shit fit Jaskier was about to throw due to their loss. 

“Geralt this isn’t a time for humor. There is a perfectly delightful stream not a dozen paces that way, and I am in desperate need of a good cleansing bath. Now, I need you to help me find my—”

“It’s clearly not here, Jaskier. Make do with what you have or forego bathing another day—”

“We have been out here a damn week, Geralt! This is the first body of water that is suitable for more than barely filling our waterskins. I am honestly shocked there are so many trees here with how much like a desert the water supply is. Now, would you please use that ridiculously powerful nose of yours and tell me where my soap is?” Jaskier pleaded, running his fingers through his hair which was beginning to look a bit stringy with the dirt and grease in it.

“Even a witcher’s nose cannot smell things that don’t exist, Jaskier. You must have forgotten it or dropped it…”

“Crap,” Jaskier cursed, looking down at himself and sighing heavily. His shoulders curled in, and he looked up at the heavens as though his lover had just died in his arms. 

Geralt half expected him to demand that they ride hard for the nearest village, but he just looked up at Geralt with the most pathetic of faces. It was certainly worrisome, but Jaskier was an unpredictable creature at the best of times, so this was nothing new.

“Might I use your soap?” Jaskier asked, almost flinching as the words left his mouth.

Contrary to Jaskier’s insistence that his soap smelled of onions, Geralt’s soaps generally smelled of nothing. Geralt didn’t particularly enjoy being covered in noxious smells that weren’t his own. The smell Jaskier had a habit of maligning was generally due to sweating out all manner of toxins after drinking potions. No part of it was fun from the toxicity to the stench it produced, but no amount of perfume was going to cover it, so Geralt had long given up on masking it. Instead, he bathed as often as he could, though that was dependent on his travels.

Geralt stood up and walked to the edge of their camp and plucked a patch of onion grass before walking over to Jaskier and holding it out.

Jaskier gave him a flat look, clearly unimpressed by Geralt’s brilliant humor. Geralt shrugged and tossed the grass onto the fire.

“It’s in the saddlebag,” Geralt said, aware that Jaskier knew exactly where he kept it.

“It is most generous of you to take pity on a man deprived of his little luxuries,” Jaskier told him, easily locating Geralt’s supply of soaps.

“Or I am just tired of traveling with a well-greased rat,” Geralt retorted.

Jaskier immediately puffed back up, mouth flapping like he was going to incinerate Geralt with a sharp retort. “I will not be insulted by a man who wears entrails as a fashion accessory!”

Geralt snorted. “Bathe or the rabbit will be overdone by the time you eat it.”

“You practically eat your meat raw, Geralt. Your idea of overdown is what is palatable to humans,” Jaskier corrected him, digging once again into his own belongings to collect the items necessary to bathe.

Geralt watched in silence as Jaskier carried his bits of linen and a small bowl to the edge of the stream. Since an incident with several drowners, Jaskier didn’t wade into any unknown bodies of water to bathe. 

So, Jaskier settled on a spot at the edge of the stream and quickly removed his clothing. Then he settled it beside him to be washed after he’d cleaned himself.

Geralt tried not to stare as Jaskier removed his trousers followed by his braies. He could see the muscles along Jaskier’s back and in his arms which were usually well hidden by his flamboyant clothing. He could trace the slight taper of his waist down to his ass as he knelt beside the water and scooped some into his bowl. 

Turning the rabbit to ensure it cooked evenly, Geralt continued to watch his companion out of the corner of his eye as he sat on his heels and worked the linen into a lather with Geralt’s soap. Even bathing was a production for Jaskier.

“Geralt, this smells like nothing,” Jaskier commented as he raised the cloth to his nose, sniffing it repeatedly as though it might take several breaths for the scent to register. When nothing was forthcoming, he brought the cloth to his chest and began to spread the lather over it. 

“Mm.”

“Not even chamomile or lavender. I cannot imagine living a life so devoid of niceties,” Jaskier said, continuing to scrub at his chest as he twisted to face Geralt. 

The soap had created a thick lather in Jaskier’s chest hair and was dripping down to create a path straight to his crotch. Geralt couldn’t see where the trail ended because it was obscured by Jaskier’s thigh, but Geralt had seen Jaskier naked enough times for his mind to easily conjure an image that left his breath stuttering unexpectedly.

Clearing his throat Geralt grumbled, “don’t need monsters to smell me coming.”

Jaskier’s laugh was bright. “Perhaps they wouldn’t be so angry if you smelled nicer.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. He didn’t understand why Jaskier gave up the pampered life of a noble to trudge through the mud when pampering himself seemed to be his favorite pastime. 

Jaskier began to sing to himself quietly as he dragged the linen cloth over his torso and around to his lower back, squeezing the water out of it, so it sent rivulets down his spine and over his ass. 

Geralt bit his lip, trying not to watch. It wasn’t as though they hadn’t seen or helped each other bathe before. Jaskier often gave him his very full attention as he bathed. It was just a dangerous proposition to watch him drag the thin strip of linen over his long limbs, especially with how much time Geralt had spent avoiding villages this spring. Already, Geralt could feel himself growing hard. He shifted slightly to relieve the strain in his pants, but it did little more than make him more aware of it.

Jaskier was oblivious to Geralt’s predicament, musing away perhaps only to hear the sound of his own voice. “We should stay at the hot springs in the north this year. What I wouldn’t give to take a long soak right now…”

Jaskier dragged the cloth low before bringing it to the bowl again and rinsing it. Then he once again went to work creating more of a lather from Geralt’s soap. 

Geralt knew what was coming, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away as Jaskier wobbled a little as he reset his knees further apart. He settled back down and brought the cloth between his legs. Geralt looked away as Jaskier released a soft sigh as he gave himself a gentle squeeze before using the cloth to clean away the days of sweat. 

“...to laze in those heated pools. Wouldn’t it be divine, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, though he was thoroughly engrossed in his task.

“Hmm.”

Geralt watched the way that Jaskier bit his lip as he scooped up some of the water in his hand and washed away the lather before cleaning beneath his foreskin. Geralt hid a groan behind a grumble as Jaskier’s tongue poked out, highlighting the concentration he’d dedicated to his task.

“We do not get to relax enough, and even our bathing is far from enjoyable at this point. Gods, Geralt, I can’t be the only one who hates squatting here with his cock out in the middle of the forest. And for what? I don’t even have the soap to do the job properly,” Jaskier complained, finally releasing said cock and taking up the cloth again to clean his testicles.

Geralt set the hare aside and tore a piece free to eat and hopefully distract himself from the show that Jaskier was putting on. Jaskier’s bathing wasn’t usually this interesting to him, and Geralt brushed it aside as being the first thing Geralt had to look at other than trees in days. It was a novelty at this point which was depressing. Geralt hadn’t even had many contracts to keep his interest or fill his pockets, so rather than staying at an inn or hiring entertainment, Geralt was getting hard watching Jaskier wash his cock. Things had truly gone to shit.

“If you didn’t have an irrational fear of—”

“It isn’t an irrational fear, Geralt! That creature grabbed me by the ankle.”

“And I beheaded it just as quickly,” Geralt retorted.

“What if it decided to grab something else?”

“Even you aren’t so self assured that you believe your cock is  _ that  _ large,” Geralt said, shaking his head. He could feel Jaskier’s narrow-eyed glare on him as he took a bite of his meat.

“I’m not willing to risk it,” Jaskier huffed, but his voice cracked at the end as he reached further back to clean behind his testicles. 

From where he was seated, Geralt could see Jaskier’s hand beneath him, trying to cleanse himself of the ripe sweat that settled in every crevice after any length of travel. Geralt’s own body clenched as the cloth dripped onto the ground beneath Jaskier as the last of the perfumed soaps and oils were washed away, leaving only the light scent of Jaskier behind.

If that emerging scent was anything to go by, the man was feeling quite frustrated. No surprise there, but there was a subtle hint of arousal clinging to him.

Growling, Geralt turned back to his meal, forcing himself not to think about how much better Jaskier smelled without the perfumes. He wouldn’t even let his mind stray close to the thought of helping Jaskier with both his arousal and frustration, killing two birds with one stone.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked hesitantly after Geralt had polished off his portion of their meal.

“Hmm?”

“Would you...you mind helping me reach my back? Still a bit stiff after that toss I got from the harpy, and I’m afraid I can’t quite reach,” Jaskier asked, sounding thoroughly embarrassed by the discovery. 

“Perhaps you should have followed my directions and taken cover,” Geralt said, even as he rose from his seat.

Jaskier sighed. “I thought you might say that. Very well, I suppose I deserve to stew in my own filth for being concerned for your health…” 

“Don’t get melodramatic,” Geralt grumbled, crouching beside the stream and washing the rabbit blood and fat off his hands before holding them out for Jaskier’s cloth. He could see Jaskier from the front at this angle, and he tried not to look at Jaskier’s cock which hung half hard between his strong thighs. 

“Oh, right. You’ve taken pity on me,” Jaskier said, brightening as he handed over the lathered cloth.

“Only to prevent myself a headache,” Geralt assured him as he moved behind Jaskier’s back and began to clean him. He started at Jaskier’s shoulders, running the cloth over Jaskier’s skin in a gentle circular motion to remove the dirt and sweat without leaving the man raw. He inspected the fading bruises left behind by the “toss” as Jaskier had called it. It hadn’t been a toss at all. The harpy had landed between them and knocked him away like a tumble weed with one of its powerful wings.

He’d checked Jaskier afterward for any serious damage and hadn’t found anything, but it didn’t hurt to check again if he was still complaining about it. Lifting Jaskier’s arm and rotating it, Geralt hummed as it moved easily even if Jaskier groaned a little. Like he’d said, it was stiff but nothing to be too concerned about. Geralt gave his shoulder a gentle pat.

Jaskier hummed contentedly as Geralt slowly worked his way lower. “Perhaps this isn’t so bad when you have someone to reach your back,” Jaskier mused as Geralt focused on his task.

This close, he could really smell Jaskier. No fancy soap or perfume, just his natural scent. Not even the muddled version of it he’d gotten from time to time that was mixed with his sweat. 

Geralt took a slow breath near Jaskier’s neck as he leaned around Jaskier and motioned for the bowl.

“Oh right, you might need that,” Jaskier said, blushing faintly at his own negligence, or Geralt’s proximity. It was impossible to tell, though the hint of arousal still hung in the air.

“Mm,” Geralt hummed, as he got a lungful of the fresh smell that clung to Jaskier’s skin. It was criminal that Jaskier buried it under layers of flowery oils. This was…

Geralt took a deep breath as he poured the fresh water Jaskier had just gathered for rinsing his skin over Jaskier’s shoulders. He bit his lip at the richness there.

Jaskier shivered dramatically at the chill of the water, but he didn’t complain. Despite his dramatic nature, he rarely actually complained about their chosen lifestyle. He bemoaned the lack of amenities, but when it came down to it, Jaskier dealt extraordinarily well with life on the Path.

For that alone, Geralt moved around him and gathered more water from the stream, using Igni to warm it just enough to be pleasant.

“You’ll spoil me if you keep this up,” Jaskier said, accepting the bowl from him.

“If that is the case, you are easily spoiled,” Geralt grumbled, stripping out of his own clothes and wading into the water just downstream of their camp.

He could feel Jaskier’s eyes on him as he squatted in the shallow water, cleaning away the dirt of travel with quick swipes of his hands. He could also still smell the man’s lowkey arousal. 

Jaskier liked to look; it didn't really matter who he was looking at. He appreciated the human, or in this case mutant, form. Geralt didn’t pay it much attention as he reached down and cupped his own genitals, giving them a cursory cleaning. It was just part of traveling together.

By the time Geralt had emerged from the stream, Jaskier was kneeling right in front of him working the stains out of his favorite doublet with Geralt’s soap. Geralt didn’t bother to comment as he flicked water from his fingertips at Jaskier as he passed.

Jaskier squawked in offense before grumbling to himself about how rude Geralt was. Geralt didn’t pay his grumbling much attention as he pulled on his clothes and settled on his bedroll. 

The rabbit was probably cooked just the way Jaskier liked it as he approached the camp, wearing nothing at all. He made a fuss about setting his clothing out to dry by the fire then dug through their belongings for the third time to collect a dry pair of braies. He sat in just those as he picked at his portion of rabbit, holding some of the bits over the fire longer as he eyed Geralt like he was trying to poison him. 

“Not all of us were designed to digest rocks, Geralt,” Jaskier said, turning his nose up as he tore a piece of meat off the bone. 

Geralt chuckled. He missed being teased and pranked when he wasn’t around other witchers, but Jaskier had a sense of humor and little fear. It was nice to be the butt of his jokes and feel connected to him.

“Not sure how rocks are that much different than the shoe leather you’re eating,” Geralt said, pointing to the overcooked rabbit.

“Well if you hadn’t taken your sweet time washing my back, perhaps I would’ve finished sooner.”

“Or if you hadn’t spent so much time washing your raggedy doublet.”

“Take that back! My doublets are never raggedy. The nerve…”

Geralt looked at the doublet then back at Jaskier and raised an eyebrow. Jaskier made a rude face and tipped his chin up. Shaking his head, Geralt knelt down on his bedroll. He settled in to meditate as Jaskier ate and amused himself by composing in the book he carried with him at all times. 

Geralt had a more difficult time settling into his meditation as Jaskier’s own scent hung in the air. Every time he made a flourishing gesture while composing, Geralt was hit by another wave of  _ him _ . 

It was just unfamiliar enough to keep Geralt on alert while also being pleasant enough to twist his gut. He’d find himself cracking open an eye and seeing Jaskier stretched out in front of the fire. The fire cast a warm glow over his bare chest and face as he scrawled in his composition book. Other times the fire would cast shadows among the trees as Jaskier waved his arms as though conducting an invisible choir. It warmed Geralt as much as the flames, leaving him smiling and imagining Jaskier when left to his own devices when he should have been meditating.

Eventually, Geralt settled as Jaskier’s voice lilted through their little camp. His voice often settled Geralt though he’d never admit it, and tonight it was just enough to center him. Tomorrow, they would set out again, and today would be forgotten—an anomaly in the stretching years of their friendship.


	2. Chapter 2

The following day, they got an early start. Geralt felt the stiffness of having been just a hair too close to the surface all night. His old injuries ached as he broke camp. His mind buzzed, not wanting to properly focus. He shoved it all down and went about what needed to be done. It wasn't like he'd never had a rough night before. Sometimes meditation just wasn't perfect.

Jaskier was as chipper as ever though as he washed his face in the stream beside Roach as she drank her fill. He sang to her as he often did when there weren’t dire situations abound. Roach tolerated Jaskier’s antics with good grace, considering she’d attempted to bite people for lesser irritations such as the indignity of attempting to pet her.

The weather was quite warm, and Jaskier had foregone his doublet and trousers for the time being. He wore only the braies and under tunic he'd gone to sleep in at Geralt's side. His sleeves were rolled up, and the buttons at his throat undone to reveal an abundance of chest hair. He seemed relaxed as he flicked water at Geralt as he fixed Roach’s saddlebags.

Geralt flicked him in the ear in retaliation. 

“You do not play fairly, Geralt,” Jaskier complained, rubbing at his abused ear as though Geralt hadn’t gone easy on him.

“Would’ve died a long time ago if I did,” Geralt said, giving Roach a gentle pat once she was set to go. 

Jaskier huffed but continued the familiar ritual he was committed to when they had water available in the morning. It started with splashing water on his face and cursing how cold it was, but it quickly became an impromptu bath as he tugged his shirt over his head.

He scooped the water into his hands and rubbed his arms and chest. Then he dabbed at the back of his neck.

Geralt found himself studying Roach’s saddle blanket in an attempt not to watch Jaskier’s ritual. However, his eyes flicked to him every time Jaskier made a ludicrous sound of pleasure.

“It would seem that _all_ of my oils, soaps, and perfumes were lost. I’ve interrogated Roach, but she insists she saw nothing. What sort of scoundrel steals a man’s perfumes?” Jaskier asked, stretching his arms up over his head before pulling his tunic back on. 

Geralt hoped it was a rhetorical question because the only answer he had was a man like Jaskier himself. He’d once watched Jaskier walk into the wrong room at an inn, rummage through the man’s belongings because he was so drunk he didn’t realize they weren’t his. When he stumbled out of the room, he’d informed Geralt that someone had stolen their room from them, so he was stealing their very fine lavender oil in retribution. When Geralt had informed him that their room was across the hall, Jaskier had huffed and carried the vial in anyway, grumbling about convoluted inns with moving rooms.

“Geralt, this is serious. It might be weeks before I can find a merchant to sell me the proper soaps,” Jaskier whined as he patted his face dry. He had long ago explained in detail why patting was the preferred method of drying his skin—something about keeping his youthful glow or some nonsense—but Geralt hadn't listened to the entire drawn out lecture.

“A true travesty to smell like yourself for once,” Geralt grumbled, walking back to the burned out fire and packing away the rest of their camp.

Jaskier made a disgusted noise. “Why would I wish to smell like a sweaty, dirty man when I could smell like a bouquet?”

“Because you, for the most part, are a sweaty, dirty man?”

“Your lack of imagination or willingness to treat yourself to life’s luxuries is truly heartbreaking, Geralt. With a few perfumes, I bet you could attract yourself a lovely sort of lover,” Jaskier told him.

Geralt frowned, sniffing at himself. Did Jaskier find him that abhorrent? He hardly smelled of anything this morning. 

Jaskier sauntered over to him, plucking a flower along the way and bringing it to Geralt’s nose with a flourish. “You could smell as sweetly as this flower if you so chose,” Jaskier said.

However, the flower’s scent wasn’t what Geralt focused on. Jaskier’s flourishing motions brought his own scent to Geralt’s nose, and it was quite lovely. It was richer than the previous night, having set into the collar of his tunic, the waist of his braies, and beneath his arms. It was just strong enough to get Geralt’s attention, but not enough that Jaskier would be aware of it yet. 

Geralt couldn’t stop himself from imagining pressing his nose to Jaskier’s throat and taking a deep breath of him. He pushed that thought away and focused on Jaskier who was standing beside him without his pants or boots on yet.

“Are you going to help, or are you going to wax on about flowers?” Geralt grumbled, trying to hide the sudden tightness in his leather pants due to Jaskier’s scent. He wasn’t sure what it was about the man’s smell that was affecting him so. It wasn’t like Geralt was unused to smelling people’s natural scents. Few people wasted what little coin they had on perfumes the way Jaskier did.

Jaskier heaved a sigh, but he tucked the flower behind Geralt’s ear and set about helping him break camp. It was a quick job when Jaskier helped which was their usual arrangement. Jaskier rarely avoided pulling his own weight, except when he was feeling tender or blue. However, it was distracting when Jaskier forewent fully dressing until they were almost ready to set off.

Geralt could tell he was still favoring the shoulder the harpy had injured, but Jaskier worked without complaint—at least without complaint about the work, but he continued to be despondent about his perfumes. 

* * *

That evening, they weren’t as lucky as the one before. There was no pleasant stream in which to bathe. In fact, there was barely a drop of water anywhere. They sat on parched earth beside a shelf in the cliff that gave them some cover. 

“Why are we even in this miserable forest?” Jaskier asked, rubbing at a stain on his doublet as he sat beside the fire Geralt had coaxed to life.

“We were being followed. I wanted to see if they’d pursue us,” Geralt told him, settling down beside him.

“Followed? And you just kept that to yourself?” Jaskier demanded, forgetting about his outfit in favor of giving Geralt a light shove. 

“Mm. You would have demanded we stay and fight him.”

“I certainly would have if it meant I’d be sitting in a noisy tavern right now regaling the locals of your brilliance. Brilliance which I am starting to believe is an utter fabrication on my part.” Jaskier huffed, projecting his displeasure to the world. However, his scent betrayed him. There was a contentedness to his scent beneath the sweat and dramatics.

Geralt just smiled at him and leaned over to nudge him with his shoulder. The close proximity brought even more of Jaskier’s scent to Geralt, and Geralt pulled back as he felt his body stir. 

“Yes, _fine_ , I am moping. You don’t need to make a big deal out of it,” Jaskier said, throwing his hands up. 

“Less chance of going hungry when you venture off the main roads,” Geralt said, trying to ignore the heavier scent of Jaskier from a day’s walking and sweating in the warm weather.

“Planning to catch us a whole stag or something?” Jaskier asked, though Geralt could hear the hope in his voice.

“You set your expectations so high, then wonder why you are constantly disappointed.” Geralt rose from his seat, deciding that hunting would be a good distraction from Jaskier. 

“Very well, perhaps you will aim for something slightly larger than yesterday’s half-starved rabbit?” 

Geralt rolled his eyes. “If you weren’t so loud, perhap the fatter ones would not have taken cover before I even went hunting.”

“Or maybe, they just smelled you coming.”

Geralt grumbled, walking over to Roach and collecting what he would need. He sniffed discreetly at his armor, wondering if it was really so terrible. Jaskier often pointed out his smell, but he never avoided him. He never kept any sort of distance between them, so he hadn’t really thought it that offensive. Perhaps Jaskier was just too stubborn to let it keep him away, just as he completely ignored Geralt’s growls. Geralt tried not to think about it as he set off in search of something with enough meat to feed them.

By the time Geralt returned with two decent-sized rabbits, Jaskier had completely set up their camp. He’d also removed the doublet he’d thrown on as they set out for the day. The sleeves of his tunic were once again rolled up, and his hands were planted on his hips as he took in his work. 

Geralt gritted his teeth as the whole camp seemed to smell entirely of Jaskier like he’d rolled around on every surface in the process of setting up. Not only Jaskier, but a happy Jaskier if he was not mistaken. Despite all of the bitching, he smelled undeniably of happiness or pleasure. Geralt blinked... _pleasure_. It smelled like Jaskier had pleasured himself in Geralt’s absence, which wasn’t entirely uncommon, but to smell what Jaskier smelled like after…

“Fuck.”

Geralt’s whole body buzzed as he took a lungful of the scent. He regretted taking the higher path because he could definitely use a dip in a cold body of water at the moment. 

Dropping the rabbits at Jaskier’s feet, Geralt grumbled something about making sure the area was safe and quickly retreated into the forest once again, leaving a bewildered Jaskier demanding to know what the hell he was supposed to do with the dead rabbits.

“Geralt? Geralt, what do you mean you’re checking the area? Come back here,” Jaskier called after him, but Geralt didn’t stop. He pushed his way into the underbrush and away from the remnants of Jaskier’s pleasure. 

Geralt knew for a fact that Jaskier was fully capable of preparing a rabbit, but he didn’t say that as he fled into the forest. He stalked around for a while before finding a spot downwind of their camp and leaning against a tree as he gripped himself through his trousers. He let out a grunt as the pressure wasn’t enough to relieve the tension brewing in his gut.

Telling himself he was reacting to nothing, Geralt resisted the urge to shove his hand into his pants. He could still smell Jaskier on the wind, his confusion mingling with the sweet scent of satisfaction. It was ridiculous that it was driving Geralt to distraction.

Geralt had never been so undisciplined as to resort to stroking himself in the middle of the woods. Even when he was in training, he’d been more controlled than this. However, the fresh woodsy scent of Jaskier that had for years been buried beneath, or at the very least muddled by, perfumes and oils was too much. It smelled safe because he knew it to be Jaskier; even beneath the layers of fragrances, it had been there. His brain and body had clearly recognized it as Jaskier’s real scent, and now it was all encompassing. It was like suddenly having access to as much of one’s favorite sweets as one could possibly want after years of tiny morsels. He didn’t know what to do with it or how to react to it. 

Giving in, Geralt unfastened his pants as quickly as he could and pulled his already hard cock out. He stroked himself roughly, seeking relief much as Jaskier had in his absence. There was nothing teasing or unhurried about it. He was still wearing his armor and weapons, but he needed to relieve the tension within him.

Thoughts of Jaskier splayed out on his bedroll came to mind as Geralt ran his thumb over the head of his cock, smearing it with the drop of liquid at the tip. Jaskier’s panting breaths echoed in Geralt’s head—a sound he’d grown accustomed to during their travels. His hand moved faster as his mind supplied him with thoughts of Jaskier spilling over his fist and belly. Jaskier lying spent on the bedroll they often shared, smelling of happiness and satisfaction.

With a heavy sigh he spilled onto the moss beneath his feet, finally slowing his rhythm and letting the relief wash over him. He braced himself against a tree as he tucked his cock into his trousers again and did them up. 

Jaskier was still lingering in the air, and it wasn’t helping him remain calm even though he’d taken the edge off. It wasn’t helping the forbidden thoughts rolling about in his mind either. 

“Get ahold of yourself,” Geralt grumbled as he ran his fingers through his hair. “He’s the same irritating bard who’s followed you for ages.”

As far as pep talks went, it was lacking. However, Geralt pushed himself away from the tree with renewed determination. It was just the novelty of being able to smell Jaskier’s exuberant emotions that was confusing his senses. He wasn’t accustomed to it, and it would just take some getting used to. It was nothing to be concerned about. As soon as the novelty wore off, things would be back to normal.

Returning to their camp, the smell of arousal had diminished. In its place was Jaskier’s very clear annoyance. When Geralt came up the path, it became abundantly clear why Jaskier was annoyed. He’d gotten blood on his trousers and was clearly trying to hold himself back from using their waterskin to blot at it before it set.

Geralt sighed, weighing the need for water against how much Jaskier would gripe about the stain. He also weighed it against his ability to face Jaskier after what he’d just done. Seeing Jaskier sitting there preparing their supper left Geralt feeling a bit out of sorts given that he’d just imagined him in a completely different and entirely more compromising position.

“Go ahead. I’ll find us some water while you cook,” Geralt grumbled, knowing that Jaskier would see this as his fault, and also welcoming the opportunity for a bit of space.

It didn’t take him that long to locate a water source. It took a little longer to clear it of the water hag that attacked as he was filling the waterskin. It barely took more than using the Igni sign to kill it, and Geralt quickly moved upstream to collect more water since he’d lost what he’d originally collected when he tossed the skin ashore.

All together, between the time and the fight, it was just enough to put him to rights. Monsters were generally easy. If they tried to eat him and weren’t under a sort of curse, he tended to kill them. It was the perfect distraction from his current predicament.

“That was awfully fast. Are you telling me that there is a source of water that close, and yet you chose to camp up here?” Jaskier asked when Geralt returned and tossed the waterskin down beside him.

“I’m sure you would have loved bathing with the water hag. Her claws looked particularly suited to castration,” Geralt said, removing his armor and wrinkling his nose at the hag’s stench which clung to it.

Jaskier blanched at Geralt’s words, but then he tipped his chin up. “You won’t frighten me with your horror stories. You’ve done a sufficient job of keeping my testicles attached to my person. I’m sure a water hag wouldn’t be any more trouble than a disgruntled noble cuckold.”

Geralt chuckled. “And what happens when I tire of protecting your balls?” Geralt wasn’t entirely sure this was a conversation he was prepared to have after earlier, but it was amusing nonetheless.

“I suspect you prefer by balls right where they are despite your protests. You’ve certainly had plenty of opportunities to let fiends abscond with them, and yet here they are,” Jaskier said, cupping himself crudely through his braies since he’d removed his trousers to handle the stain properly. 

Geralt rolled his eyes and took a seat beside Jaskier, ignoring his state of undress. “Perhaps it is just the less troublesome outcome. I cannot imagine how grating you would be if I let someone castrate you for your deeds.”

“That’s ri—wait a moment.”

“Your rabbit is going to burn.” 

Jaskier yelped, hurrying to turn his meal over the open flame. 

“Was starting to feel like I’m camping alone for how much time you’ve spent at our camp,” Jaskier said once he was certain that his meal wasn’t ruined. He shifted around to grab the wineskin he was rationing throughout their journey. It was beginning to look a bit light, but Jaskier never failed to offer the first sip to Geralt.

Geralt was surprised to find a very lightly cooked rabbit already waiting for him as well. Clearly, Jaskier wasn’t so annoyed with him that he’d overcooked both rabbits out of spite.

“Would you rather do the hunting?” Geralt asked, settling in beside Jaskier and accepting his meal from him.

Jaskier narrowed his eyes at Geralt. The last time Jaskier had done the hunting, he’d laid a trap for a rabbit, but hadn’t had the heart to kill the creature once caught. Jaskier had also forbidden Geralt from doing so, going so far as to feed the animal before releasing it with a gentle tap to the rear. Geralt would admit that it was a particularly fuzzy and round rabbit, unlike the hares Geralt usually caught, but food was food. They’d both gone without supper that evening.

“You’re acting strangely.” Jaskier studied him as he tore into his meat. 

Geralt ignored the scrutiny. Jaskier accused him of acting strangely at least once per fortnight. He’d been told he was acting strangely for the way he laid out his bedroll, for choosing sleep over meditation and visa versa, and even for tending his clean sword before the dirty one. Jaskier wasn’t always wrong, but he often read more into Geralt’s actions than Geralt did. So, Geralt brushed his comment off with a grunt even though Jaskier was definitely _not_ wrong this evening.

“You’ve jumped on every opportunity to rush off into the woods. I might think you were using me as some sort of bait if you weren’t still grumpy about the harpy incident.”

“Why would I need to lie to use you as bait when simply telling you there is a monster nearby leads to you rushing headfirst into harm’s way?”

“Perhaps if a certain witcher wasn’t so vague when giving details, I wouldn’t be so inclined to…” Jaskier squinted at him. “You’re trying to distract me. Like I was saying, I don’t think you’re using me as bait. However, what else would have you rushing off into the forest at every opportunity, only to return a short time later…”

“Perhaps hunting, securing the area, and fetching water so you could be certain your pants didn’t stain,” Geralt said with a sigh. Jaskier was very good at reading people, but Geralt wasn’t exactly concerned that he’d figure him out. They’d traveled together for years. Surely if Geralt was going to develop an infatuation, it would have happened ages ago...or so Geralt thought.

Jaskier’s tongue poked out as he gave it some thought. Geralt opted to finish eating rather than wait for whatever brilliance Jaskier would come up with. 

“Was it the rabbit?” Jaskier asked as Geralt was cleaning the last of the meat from the bone. His tone was conspiratorial which was odd since there was no one else around to warrant such a tone.

“The rabbit?” he asked in confusion.

“Did that half-starved, under-cooked rabbit give you the runs?” Jaskier asked seriously. 

Geralt frowned.

“No need to be shy, Geralt. I hadn’t realized witchers experienced such things, but it’s nothing so bad as to require coming up with reasons to hurry off. You’re obviously aware that I have experienced my own gastric distress from time to time. If you need to empty your bowels, I certainly will not judge you for it,” Jaskier assured him.

Geralt just stared at Jaskier for a moment, taking in the genuinely concerned scent of him. Perhaps Geralt hadn’t thought he’d come out and accuse Geralt of pleasuring himself to thoughts and the scent of him, but this was... _not_ what he was expecting. He blinked once then nodded. “Thank you,” Geralt said, tossing the bones into the fire.

“But of course. I’m glad we have that sorted. Perhaps I should’ve cooked your rabbit a bit longer. I hope it sits well for you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re feeling unwell, I can brew you a tea. I have several herbs that help with a contrary stomach…”

“I’ll be fine,” Geralt said again. 

“Is stubbornness one of the mutations, or were you always this way?” Jaskier teased him, bumping their shoulders together. Jaskier’s scent was thicker from their day of travels and his toiling about their camp. Still, it had a relaxing quality to it as Jaskier sat with him comfortably. Even if Geralt’s pants were once again a hair too tight, he didn’t want Jaskier to move away. In fact, he wanted him to move closer, a fact that he chose to ignore.

“Mm, it’s one of the mutagens we receive.”

“That’s what I thought. Super human stubbornness. I could work with that. Stubborn as an ass with an ass as—” Jaskier tumbled over dramatically as Geralt gave him a light shove.

“Get some rest. The path doesn’t get easier from here,” Geralt told him, settling on his bedroll. He intended to meditate again, not trusting himself to sleep with Jaskier’s scent overpowering the cave.

However, as Geralt knelt beside the fire, Jaskier pulled his bedroll closer until he was right beside Geralt. Their knees practically touched as Jaskier curled up on his side. It wasn’t an uncommon position, but it was certainly a distracting one given the circumstances.

Geralt ground his teeth as he waited for Jaskier to settle. The firelight bathed Jaskier’s body in a warm glow, emphasizing the youthfulness of his features. Geralt tried to ignore it, but he found himself watching Jaskier once he’d fallen asleep. It was so easy to take for granted the fact that Jaskier could so easily fall asleep anywhere they traveled. The trust he placed in Geralt was staggering.

For longer than Geralt would like to admit, he sat there watching Jaskier sleep and keeping watch for anything that might mean them harm. Eventually, he settled into meditation, still ever ready for possible trouble.


End file.
